Brittany's Straight & Why I write not of Love
by GoldringI
Summary: High School. Early-Mid S2. An increasigly drunken poker game, and the morning after. Brittana & pre-slash Faberry. Previously published on LJ.
1. Brittany's Straight

**A/N: This and the follow-up, appearing here as a second chapter, were written during the first half of Season 2. So far I have not written any more of this head-canon/universe, which includes _Bathroom__Break_ and the Faberry futurefic _Naked__Berry__and__the__Newly-Cropped__Hair_, both now also re-published on FF. I really do intend on writing more in this 'verse, but have been distracted with other projects, sorry.**

**You don't need to have read _Bathroom__Break_ first, hence these not appearing as additional chapters to that, but you may wonder why Santana punched a mirror. **

**Other than just being Santana, of course.**

**Also, apparently FF won't let me display card characters, hence the suites in brackets (fairly obviously: Spade=S, Heart=H, Club=C, and Diamond=D). And that probably uses up my 'hence' count.**

**On with the fic:**

* * *

><p><strong>9(S) J(S) 8(H)<strong>

"Why are they called 'Jacks'? Shouldn't they be 'Princes'?"

"I don't know, B, we'll Wiki it later."

"They are not 'Princes', Brittany. They used to be known as 'Knaves', but a manufacturer in the 1860s regarded the shorthand of a capital-K with a lowercase-n to be too similar to the capital-K of the 'Kings', so printed them with the capital-J of 'Jacks', which the cards had been known as in a game called 'All-Fours' since the 17th century. A lot of people didn't like it because the word was considered vulgar."

Brittany looked shell-shocked. The rest of the table wasn't much better, although Santana's grimace was mainly directed at Quinn, who she was certain had almost smiled.

"Do you have wires coming out of the back of your head?"

"Seriously, Berry? Who the fuck invited you anyway?"

"This is a Glee Club get-together Santana."

"Yeah, but I didn't think anybody would actually invite you."

"Finn invited me."

"Figures. Never could keep his mouth shut when it mattered."

"Hey! I'm like, right here..."

"No, people who are _here_ don't fold instantly on every hand."

"I haven't had any decent cards."

"That's not the way it works," Brittany and Rachel said in unison. Then stared at each other.

"Anything else you girls wanna do tog-OUCH!"

Puck rubbed his arm where Santana had punched it. Kurt laughed.

"Really? You actually said 'ouch'?"

"Hey, I was taken by surprise, okay?"

_**-BAM-**_

Quinn lifted her hand off the table, rearranged the flop, straightened in her chair.

"Could we _please_ get back to the hand? San, it's your bet."

"Sure, sure," the Latina responded, flexing the hand she'd just used to punch Puck. It still had the dressing from when she'd punched the mirror. Brittany sighed, regarding it.

"You shouldn't've done that."

Santana looked at her, unsure of which action she was referring to. Quinn groaned.

"San!"

"Check."

"Britt?"

"Raise," she said, making no movement towards her stack.

"By how much, Britt?"

"Oh," she looked down, and selected a particularly shiny Dime, "Ten cents!"

She tossed it onto the pile. Santana narrowed her eyes. Quinn took note.

"Call," said Mercedes, "And can we please hurry this along?"

It was now Quinn's turn. Her gaze remained on Santana's narrowed eyes. The Latina stared right back. Quinn's eyes flicked from Santana's, to Brittany's guileless face, to the very, very, _shiny_ Dime, and back up to Santana's.

"Fold."

"Call," sighed Kurt.

"Remind me again why we're playing for money?"

"'Cause you guys wouldn't play for clothes."

"_Strip Poker!" yelled Puck._

"_No!" yelled Santana, Kurt, Finn, Sam, and Mercedes._

"_Thank God," muttered Rachel and Quinn._

"_Aww..." whined Puck. And Brittany. Santana tried rubbing her back, but she shrugged the hand off._

"It's just Nickels and Dimes, Man-Hands."

"There was a Quarter in there earlier," Rachel pointed to the pot.

"Ooh, that was mine!" Brittany clapped, "and I won that hand too!"

Rachel gave her a funny look, but a glare from Santana put paid to it. She shrugged.

"Raise 5."

"Fold," said Sam

"Call," Puck.

"Fold," Santana.

"Call," nodded Brittany.

"Finally, said Mercedes, "Call."

Quinn dealt the Turn.

**9(S) J(S) 8(H) K(S)**

Kurt hum-d and ha-d over his cards, before sighing.

"Fold."

"Raise 10," said Rachel, instantly. Puck side-eyed her.

"Fold."

Brittany smiled contentedly.

"Raise. Oh, 20."

"All-in," Mercedes grinned. An entire fifty cents made its way into the pot.

Quinn looked over at Rachel, who was suddenly less sure of herself.

"Rachel?"

"Uh... Call..."

"Britt?"

"Call, call," the sweet blonde nodded.

"And the River is..."

**9(S) J(S) 8(H) K(S) J(D)**

"Oh, yes!" Mercedes' grin grew even wider.

"Check," said Rachel.

Brittany shrugged.

"Check."

"Okay," drawled Quinn, "Let's see your cards, ladies."

Santana rolled her eyes.

"You are getting _way_ too into this, Q."

Ignoring her, Quinn looked at Rachel.

"Berry?"

Rachel turned her cards over.

**7(D) 10(D)**

"God Dammit!" yelled Mercedes.

"Seven-Jack straight. Good cards, Berry."

"No shit," Mercedes continued to mutter. Rachel smiled at Quinn, who just rolled her eyes, before turning to Brittany.

"B?"

"Yes?"

"Cards?"

"But I've already got – oh, right."

She placed her cards on the table.

**10(C) Q(H)**

Santana laughed.

"Fuck you, Midget."

"Hey!" complained Finn.

Rachel rubbed his arm, thanking him for the sympathy, but her brow furrowed when she thought she saw a split second glare pass across Quinn's face in Santana's direction. But it was only a flash, if it had happened at all, and Quinn had already turned to Mercedes.

"I'm guessing you're not going to beat a Nine-King straight?"

"Oh, you guess?"

She tossed her cards down.

**J(C) K(H)**

"Full-Goddamn-House, Kings over Jacks."

Quinn gave her a sympathetic smile. Brittany looked to Santana.

"I won, didn't I?"

"Yes, B."

"Yay!"

She gathered up the money, adding it to the large pile of silver she already had. She then carefully picked out the shiniest pieces and put them to one side whilst she sorted the rest into type.

Quinn turned to Kurt.

"You still in? It's your deal."

Kurt ran a finger over his immaculate coif and picked up the cards, carefully shuffling them.

"Very well, let's see if The Lady smiles better on me when I'm doing her work."

Brittany sighed.

"I wish S still did."

Nobody said anything. Or moved. Or breathed. Except for Brittany, who continued her important work.

The moment passed, and Kurt started his deal.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Much Later, After Much Alcohol...<strong>_

* * *

><p>Rachel sat in her bra and panties.<p>

"How did this happen?"

Quinn dragged her eyes up from Rachel's stomach to lazily regard her face.

"It's because..."

She zoned out, lost in brown eyes.

Santana rolled hers.

"You're a lightweight drunk, and you're shit at cards."

"Right," Quinn affirmed.

"I was referring to both of you."

Quinn turned to her.

"Oh, fuck you, little-miss-scaredy-pants."

"What am I fucking scared of? You're the one who can't stop staring at Treasure Trail's treasure trail."

Rachel's eyes went wide.

"Pardon?"

Brittany looked up from carefully folding Quinn's and Rachel's skirts.

"I wouldn't worry about it, none of you are going to remember this in the morning. Not until after some prompting, anyway. And even when you do, everybody else will think you're bullshitting."

Rachel looked mildly perturbed at Brittany's verbosity.

"I can barely talk, how are you managing so well? Better than normal, even?"

"I'm tired. My brain won't turn off when I'm tired. It's why I do all my homework last thing at night, I actually have a chance at getting the right answer. It's also when my pills wear off."

"Pills?"

"Your eyes are fantastic holes of inspiration..." said Quinn.

"Seriously, Q?"

"Seriously, S? Get a new opener."

Santana groaned. Brittany looked around Finn's basement.

"Where's everyone gone? I wasn't paying attention."

Quinn turned to her.

"Mercedes and Kurt left when Kurt lost his money too, and when he phoned his Dad to say he was coming home, Finn's Mom told him to come too, Puck went to the store, but that was two hours ago, so I guess he's in Juvie again, and then Sam left because none of us are interested in offensive play strategies."

"Oh. So why is Rachel still here?"

"Because she thought that Puck would give her a ride home."

Rachel's eyes went wide.

"Wait, does that mean he isn't?"

"Relax, Rach, you can stay here, like these two."

'Rach?', mouthed Santana, mainly to herself.

"Yeah, Berry, Q only hates you in a 'repressed lesbian taking it out on the object of her affections', way, not a 'let you walk home alone at two A.M.' way."

"Fuck you, San."

"I ask and ask, and you keep saying no."

Quinn glowered at her. Rachel was bemused.

"This is your house? I'd assumed it was Puck's."

Santana laughed.

"What's the matter, scared of being in the lair of the beast?"

"No!" she said to Santana, and turned to Quinn, "But won't your Mother mind that we're still here?"

"She's visiting my sister for the weekend. Besides, she's so scared of losing my love again that she'd probably put up with it anyway."

Something Santana had just said finally filtered its way into Rachel's alcohol-befuddled mind.

"Wait!"

"God! What now?" moaned Santana, "And why do have to so fucking shrill? Oww!"

She reached down and rubbed her shin.

"Fucking Hell, I prefer you when you're sober and less likely to stick up for Oompa-Lo-OWW! That was my fucking hand, Q!"

"My foot slipp-OWW!"

"So did mine."

Rachel glared at them.

"Are you two finished?"

"Yes," responded Brittany, before Santana could say anything, "They are."

"Thank you Brittany. Is it really two A.M.?"

Santana glanced at her watch.

"Meh. One-thirty. I guessed you'd want to try and win your clothes back. Of course, you only have two hands worth of clothing left anyway, so good luck with that."

"I have lessons tomorrow!"

"It's Friday night! What lessons could you possibly have tomorrow?"

"Well, dance for one..."

"Have you been going long?" asked Brittany, "Because you should probably sue."

Santana burst into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. Now Brittany looked bemused.

"That wasn't meant to be a joke."

"Oh, but it was _such_ a good one."

Rachel huffed.

"Can we please get on? Santana was right, I _would_ like to try and win my clothes back."

Brittany's gaze flicked between her and Quinn.

"I'm still not entirely certain how we ended up playing strip poker anyway."

Quinn sighed.

"We're weren't playing strip poker, Britt, you and Santana took all our money and we couldn't cover the bets."

"Natural progression, then."

"Yes."

"Who's deal is it?"

"_Yours_, Britt."

Brittany gave a small pleased chirrup before taking the deck and dealing out the cards.

**9(S) J(S) 8(H)**

Santana gaped.

"Mother-Fucker! What are the odds?"

"We have been playing for several hours, Santana."

"Yeah, Berry, but still..."

She shook her head. Brittany carefully placed Rachel's and Quinn's clothes in the centre of the table.

"Your bet, Q."

"Yeah, yeah, just give me a sec, Britt..."

Quinn stared at the cards she'd been given, leaning closer and closer until her eyes closed and her head landed heavily on the table. She shot back up, and glared at her cards.

"Fuck it, fold."

Brittany turned to Rachel.

"Rachel?"

A resigned shrug.

"All-in."

"San?"

The Latina huffed.

"Garbage. Fold. Take her to the cleaners, hun," she said, giving Brittany her best smile. Brittany met it with a raised eyebrow.

Quinn grabbed Brittany's arm.

"Please don't, Britt, I know it's just the four of us now, but hasn't she suffered enough humiliation?"

Rachel's jaw dropped.

"Who are you, and where's Quinn Fabray?"

"I never took you for a pinball wizard, Man-Hands," snorted Santana.

The tiny brunette looked confused.

"Pinball wiz-? Oh, _Tommy_. Are you calling me deaf, dumb and blind?"

"I'd call you a serious buzz-kill, but we're winding up anyway. Seriously though, you think _this_ is bad," Santana nodded at Quinn, who was giving her best puppy-dog impression to Brittany, "You should see her when she's this drunk and hasn't been having fun all evening. She'd probably be on her knees, begging you for forgiveness from years of torture."

The very drunk blonde whipped round.

"That is not true. I'm not like _you_ when _you__'__re_ begging for Brittany's forgiveness because you've fucked up _again_."

Santana snarled.

"No, you'd've already got your begging out of the way and be on your knees for a different reason."

Rachel pulled a face.

"Ugh, that's disgusting, Santana."

Brittany shook her head.

"No it isn't," she paused, and cocked her head sideways in thought, "Not after the first time, anyway."

The other three stared at her.

"Well, that had the required effect. No more bets to be placed, shall we get on with it?"

Rachel nodded.

"Yes, lets, it's getting quite cold."

"Sorry," said Quinn, "This was my father's study, and he insisted the heating be kept low enough so that the light from his soul would be enough to warm him."

She sneered.

"So we had to install under-floor cooling."

She laughed. Brittany rolled her eyes, and dealt the Turn.

**9(S) J(S) 8(H) K(S)**

"Holy shit."

Santana side-eyed her.

"Didn't know you even _knew_ any swear words, Berry."

"I do find myself increasingly in _your_ presence."

"And finally," intoned Brittany, loudly.

**9(S) J(S) 8(H) K(S) J(D)**

"Oww!"

"I told you to be nice to Rachel!"

"What the fuck, Q?" Santana shot out of her chair, quickly followed by Quinn.

"Sorry, I forgot, _you__'__re_ the only person allowed to hurt her."

"ENOUGH! SIT DOWN!"

The standing two sat down quickly at Brittany's command. Rachel looked scared, she'd never seen the blonde angry before, and it fit surprisingly well. Brittany rubbed her arm.

"That hurt, Quinn."

"Sorry."

"Accepted."

"You accepts _hers_ fine," Santana muttered under her breath. Brittany ignored her.

"If you'd been paying attention, Q, you would've seen that Rachel was actually _smiling_ when I laid down the River. I'm guessing only the cards you can see are the same as earlier."

Quinn looked to Rachel, who nodded, a small smile creeping back onto her features.

"So, let's see them, Rach."

"Not you too," said Santana.

"Shouldn't it be you first? You're the dealer..."

"Please."

"Okay."

**10(C) Q(H)**

"For fucks sake," said Santana.

Quinn beamed at Brittany.

"So you've got her 7 10 of Diamonds, right B?"

Brittany maintained eye contact with Rachel. Rachel's smile faltered. Brittany looked at her cards.

"Sorry."

She tossed them onto the table.

**10(S) Q(S)**

Rachel was crestfallen. She looked like she was about to cry.

"Please don't make me..." she said in a very small voice.

"Britt, you can't..."

"Take it off!"

"San!"

"Shit," announced Brittany. She looking at the cards, apparently in annoyance.

"What?" asked Rachel, ever closer to blubbing.

"When I threw the cards down, they hit the discard pile. It counts as a Fold."

She looked up, meeting Rachel's now confused gaze.

"You won."

Rachel looked confused for a second longer, then a massively wide smile erupted onto her face, followed quickly by one on Quinn's. Santana glowered, again.

"You did that deliberately."

Brittany said nothing, merely gathered up the cards, and tossed the clothing pile at Rachel, who quickly divided them up between herself and Quinn. They started to put the clothes on, but then Brittany piped up again.

"I wouldn't bother, let's just go to bed. Your bed can fit four, right Q?"

"Yeah, I guess, but can't we just crash in the living room? I'm too drunk for the stairs."

"Yeah, I'm with you on that one," agreed Santana.

"No, I need a bed."

"Definitely," Rachel added with a nod. Brittany caught her eye as the other two groaned.

"Come on, let's get these two upstairs. You take Santana, I'll take Quinn."

"You're foisting me off on _her_?"

"Yes."

"Fine, I'm too tired to argue. You'd better not drop me, Oompa-Loompa."

"I'll try my best."

Quinn swung an arm over Brittany's shoulder, and Santana did the same to Rachel. The four of them hobbled out of Quinn's father's study, and up the stairs, Rachel and Quinn with their clothes under their arms. Halfway up, Rachel said to Brittany:

"I suppose if Artie had come, he would've fleeced all of us."

"No, he's lousy at cards. Can't even count them properly."


	2. Why I write not of Love

**A/N: Poem is by Ben Jonson. There was going to be a point to using it when I wrote this, but I forgot about it when writing, and now can't remember it in the slightest, since that was almost a year ago. Sorry. But it still kind of fits the tone of the piece, I think.**

**On with the fic:**

* * *

><p>Why I write not of Love<p>

Some act of _Love__'__s_ bound to rehearse,  
>I thought to binde him in my verse:<br>Which when he felt, Away (quoth he),  
>Can Poets hope to fetter mee?<br>It is enough, they once did get  
>MARS, and my <em>Mother<em>, in their net:  
>I weare not these my wings in vaine.<br>With which he fled me: and againe,  
>Into my ri'mes could ne're be got<br>By any arte. Then wonder not,  
>That since, my numbers are so cold,<br>When _Love_ is fled, and I grow old.

* * *

><p>Rachel awoke to the dulcet tones of vomit hitting porcelain. And a set of strong pale limbs wrapped around various parts of her anatomy. She turned her head to look at a pair of full lips and long, somewhat strangely angled, eyelashes. She smiled to herself.<p>

_This feels really nice._

_I wish Quinn was this friendly more often._

_I'd hate to think of vomit smearing that shade of lipstick._

Another round of vomiting sounded out from Quinn's en-suite. Rachel subtly manoeuvred herself to see who was left on the bed, and was surprised to find that it was Santana, managing to glare even in her sleep, which meant that probably the least drunk person of the previous evening was now throwing up barely ten feet away. She frowned.

_Britt doesn't seem the type to not hold her liquor._

She tried some more subtle manoeuvring, but it didn't produce the desired effect.

_Well, I guess that depends on your point of view._

In trying to slide out of Quinn's arms – and legs – Rachel had managed to end up with the blonde's right hand squarely over her own left breast.

At that same time Quinn had sensed her movements and drawn her in closer, squeezing _just_ right. The sleeping girl clearly appreciated the new state of affairs, gently flexing her hand again and tightening the hold her legs had on Rachel's.

"Oh God."

Rachel found herself suddenly short of breath. Whilst her body warmed to the sense of frying nerve endings, her brain decided to remind her of a couple of facts:

_1) Brittany is puking her guts out and may require assistance. Clearly neither Quinn nor Santana are compos mentis enough to help._

_2) If Quinn comes 'round right now, SHE WILL FUCKING KILL YOU, YOU MORON. GET YOUR ACT TOGETHER._

Rachel did what generally came naturally to her, except where love was concerned, and listened to her brain. She gingerly extricated herself from Quinn's limbs, ignoring the groan of disappointment emanating from the blonde, and made her way to the en-suite.

"Brittany?"

The blonde was draped elegantly against the toilet bowl, looking for all the world like she had fallen asleep. Rachel was impressed that she was managing to appear flawless despite the contents of the bowl. California-sky blue eyes opened and regarded her apologetically.

"Did I wake you?" she whispered.

"It's alright," Rachel replied, equally quietly, "Some people simply can't handle their liquor. I personally have little experience in the area, although I _am_ surprised that the small amount you imbibed last night has caused you quite this much trouble."

Brittany let her finish, blinking lazily through the spiel, before calmly turning back to the bowl and chundering once again. Once she was done, she caught her breath, and spoke again.

"It's not the drink. I forgot to bring my headache pills, and they always hit worst in the morning."

Rachel furrowed her brow.

"Do you have headaches often?"

Brittany carried on, apparently ignoring her.

"I don't want to wake Quinn, she's a bitch with a hangover..."

"I didn't know she drank every night," muttered Rachel.

"...and San probably wouldn't get out of bed to piss on me if I was on fire right now, so would you mind going around to my house and getting them? They're hidden in my closet."

"I've never been to your house Brittany, I have no idea where you live, let alone where your closet is."

"It's in my room."

Rachel blinked.

_Clearly she's getting back to normal._

Realization dawned for Brittany.

"Oh, right. My house is actually really close, so it shouldn't take more than a few minutes, even if you walk. You just turn left up this street, then take the first right, and it's the first house you come to with a blue door. Oh, and my Mom's flowerbed has plants laid out like the Drenthe flag. Complete with the little castle in the middle."

She paused, aiming her head towards the bowl. When it became apparent to her that she _wasn__'__t_ about to throw up again, she turned back to Rachel.

"My Mom'll be up already, so just tell her that I forgot a piece of group project homework or something, and she'll show you to my room. I only have one closet."

"What are they in, in the closet?"

"Just their bo–"

As Brittany heaved again, Rachel moved closer and lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. Action finished, the blonde looked up at her.

"Thanks."

"It's nothing."

"Regardless. Anyway, just their boxes. So, can you do that? Please?"

Rachel found herself getting lost in deep blue eyes. They still looked so apologetic, like a chastised dog that knows it's done something it shouldn't, that she found herself utterly unable to say no. Not that she'd been planning to anyway. She gave Brittany a beaming smile.

"Yes, of course."

"You don't have to, just because I'm doing the wide-eyed 'Puss in Boots out of Shrek' thing."

"Brittany, you're my friend, and you're in pain. I reiterate, _of__course_ I will help you."

She squeezed her shoulder it what she hoped was a reassuring fashion, and left the en-suite, missing the way Brittany's brow furrowed as she lay her head back down on the toilet seat, watching her leave.

* * *

><p>Re-entering the bedroom, the first thing that Rachel noticed was that Santana was nowhere to be seen. The second thing she noticed was that Quinn was half out of the sheets. And cuddling the area of the pillow where Rachel's head had been. The <em>third<em> thing she noticed, having been too tired and minisculy drunk the previous evening, was just how little-girly Quinn's room was.

_Seriously, Quinn? A poster for Princess Protection Programme? And people think **my** room is ridiculous._

She shook her head, the action causing her gaze to come to rest on her favourite owl sweater neatly tidied away on a chair, making her realise that she was still only half-dressed from the night before, which made her realise that Quinn was only half-dressed from the night before, which made her realise that the strong pale limbs that had been wrapped around her earlier had had nothing covering them, which made her realise that her toned, tanned limbs had had nothing covering them, which made her reali–

_Oh shit, I just comforted Brittany wearing nothing but my bra and panties. Thank -ahem- that Santana didn't see me._

_Where the Hell is Santana anyway?_

Pushing all other thoughts (_strong,__pale,__bare,__limbs_) aside, Rachel got dressed and went downstairs to find her coat, which didn't exactly take long seeing as she had hung it carefully on the coat rack by the front door, unlike her peers, who had strewn things randomly about the downstairs on their way to her Quinn's father's study.

_I'm amazed Quinn's Mother lets her get away with this._

"Like Q said last night, her Mom's so desperate to keep her love, she'd let her get away with murder."

Rachel looked over at Santana, who had just walked in from the kitchen, holding a small white box.

"Are you psychic too?"

"Britt's not psychic, she just notices shit."

"I was referring to myself."

"_I_ should've known."

Santana looked down at the box in her hands. She shoved it at Rachel.

"Here. I figured she'd forget, so I made sure to bring some."

Rachel took the box and looked it over.

"Aren't these prescription?"

"Yeah. My Dad's a doctor."

"And he gets you prescription meds? That could get him into serious trouble."

Santana huffed.

"Well maybe he should've got a pre-nup.," she looked over at Rachel's confused expression, "I cut class one day when he had a day off because he was going on some conference tour for a fucking month and I wanted to spend some time with him, and I walk in on him boning the hospital's Chief Pharmacist. So yeah, prescription meds, not a problem. Not if he doesn't want Mama to find out."

She gave an unreadable look up the stairs.

"I only do it for her. I don't get fucking Methadone, or anything."

"Surely if they live in this area then Brittany's parents could easily afford–"

"Oh please," Santana interrupted her, "B's Mom is an holier-than-thou liberal who thinks that pills are the tools of big business designed for some conspiracy-theory shit that I can't be bothered to remember. She only believes in that new-age _holistic_ crap. Refuses to take Britt to a real doctor."

She looked down at her empty hands. Rachel thought she could almost see a tear.

"Despite how much worse she's been getting. Artie refuses to see it too. Useless legless little..."

"Santana. He makes Britt happy."

"At least somebody does."

Rachel couldn't think of anything to say to that. Almost.

"And she obviously thinks a lot of him too, remember her actions at Christmas?"

Santana laughed mirthlessly.

"She doesn't."

"What?"

"I said, she fucking doesn't, she was swimming that whole time. You seriously think she still believes in Santa? Ask her. She hasn't believed in Santa since we were thirteen and I made her watch Gremlins. All she remembers from Christmas is this weird dream where she kept seeing Santa in all these weird versions."

Rachel could definitely see tears now. They were impossible to ignore.

"And I just keep hearing people say that she's so dumb, or so sweet, or whatever, and it fucking kills me 'cause they haven't noticed just how _wrong_ it all is. She was on the fucking honor roll in middle school."

"Really?"

Santana launched herself at Rachel.

"FUCK YOU, MIDGET! JUST GIVE HER THE FUCKING PILLS!"

"Okay," Rachel replied, very quietly, "Okay."

Santana let her go.

"And tell her she left them here from last time we were 'round, or something."

Rachel nodded, and rushed back up the stairs. Santana sat down in a chair, looking at nothing.

* * *

><p>"That was quick."<p>

Brittany was still lying against the bowl, but this time she was regarding Rachel almost suspiciously. Rachel considered that her shifting from one foot to the other and back again probably didn't help.

"I didn't need to go to your house after all. As I was getting my coat, I noticed this box of pills on Quinn's hall table, and my sixth sense just knew it was yours. You must have left it here from one of the many other times you have stayed here."

Brittany blinked.

"S is no good at lying, you should've made up your own one."

Rachel was affronted.

"That mostly was."

Brittany shrugged.

"I heard her yelling at you. I'm sorry."

Rachel shrugged in return, and smiled.

"What are friends for?"

"Don't call us that."

Rachel's face dropped.

"I would've thought that by now–"

Brittany interrupted her.

"Friends shouldn't treat you like the shit we treat you."

This time, Rachel actually couldn't think of anything to say. She stood there, her mouth opening and closing noiselessly.

"You look like the fish my cat ate."

Rachel tried to regain her composure, and steadied herself by putting her hand on Quinn's towel rail...

"Ouch!"

...which was surprisingly painful.

"Heated rail," said Brittany, "At least Quinn's isn't near the shower. Mine is. Santana put her hand on it once when we were in there together, and I swear I got concussion from the way her legs tensed. Apparently she yelled too, but I couldn't hear her."

It was Rachel's turn to blink.

_Moving on._

She took a step forward, then looked at the pills, and rushed out of the room. Brittany frowned, and called after her.

"I haven't taken them yet!"

No response.

"If you need to puke too, I'm sure mine won't mind mixing with yours!"

* * *

><p>Rachel thrust the box at Santana.<p>

"You give them to her."

"No."

"Do it, Santana. I refuse. You two are never going to sort out your differences if the only way you communicate is to throw barbs at one another, and I think that it's you who needs to make the first move."

Santana sighed.

"You're right."

She got up, grabbed the box, and started up the stairs. Pausing halfway, she turned back to Rachel.

"I'm not going to tell you what I'll do to you if you ever repeat that I said that," she turned away, continuing up the stairs, "I wouldn't want to make your ears bleed ahead of schedule."

When Rachel again re-entered Quinn's bedroom, she noticed two things. One, the door to the en-suite was now shut, and two, Quinn was now awake. And had hastily put on pyjamas. Quinn glared at her.

"That woman could freeze fire with that stare."

"I _beg_ your pardon?"

"Did I say that out loud?"

"_Yes_. What are you even still doing here? I would've thought you'd have enough sense to get out of my house as soon as possible."

"I-I was helping Brittany."

"Oh. Well, Santana's got that covered now, thank God, _finally_, so you can leave."

A muffled noise came from the en-suite.

"_Ow! Goddammit!"_

"_Yeah, hers is heated too, S."_

"Uugh."

Quinn made the disgusted noise, but on her face was a small smile. Rachel smiled too.

"You put your top on back to front."

Quinn looked down at herself.

"Shit. Well, I was so disgusted with myself for sleeping next to you wearing just my underwear that I had to throw stuff on as fast as possible once I woke up. You realise I'm going to have to burn them, now? And they were my favorites."

Rachel chose to ignore Quinn's bitchiness. She nodded towards the en-suite door.

"Did you go to middle school with her?"

"Yes."

"Was she really on the honor roll?"

Quinn sighed, and slowly nodded.

"Make no mistake, though. She's always been direct, and a bit spacey, prone to non sequiters. But yes, it's only in the last couple of years that she's become a..."

She looked over at the closed door, and lowered her voice to a level where even Rachel's vastly superior auditory senses could barely hear her.

"...retard."

Rachel's brow furrowed.

"What do you think happened?"

"I don't know," Quinn replied with a shrug, voice back to normal, "I used to think she was Autistic, but now..."

She trailed off. Rachel's brow furrowed further. At her expression, Quinn rolled her eyes and explained.

"When I was reading baby books last year, they'd go through all the things you should look out for once the baby is born, and apparently poor balance is one of the earliest signs of Autism. I went to kindergarten with her, and I remember her falling over like, all the time, the only reason she dances so well now is because her parents put her in dance classes to try and control it. It worked."

If Quinn thought that Rachel's brow couldn't furrow itself _even_ further, she was wrong.

"I took dance classes with a girl who fell over a lot. I wonder if that was Brittany? I never learnt the names of the other children because I felt that they were immaterial."

"So what else is new?"

Rachel pouted.

"You know, I was really hoping that seeing as how you didn't throw me out the instant the game finished last night, and how you were pleading with Britt on my behalf, that maybe we would wake up today as friends."

"Yeah well, B was right. We're not friends, and probably never will be."

"I do try."

Quinn side-eyed her.

"Sometimes. When it suits you. Y'know, I used to think you were Autistic or something too, then I realised you are just pathologically narcissistic."

Rachel glared at Quinn.

"I am _not_–"

"Sunshine Corazon."

Rachel clamped her jaw shut.

"Fine. But I _do_ try, Quinn. Would it really kill you to try back? I was all set to leave here and have nothing but praise for the way the evening turned out, which would make a change because generally when I tell my Dads how my day has gone I end up in tears."

Quinn turned her face away from Rachel...

"Usually I then have to spend two hours talking them down from coming round here and punching you in the face."

...and then spun it back around to look at her with wide-eyed incredulity.

"What?"

Rachel shrugged.

"You think just because they're gay they'll be all effeminate and loving and caring and merely wish to sue you for mental distress? They're my _Dads_, Quinn. _Dads_. There would be something wrong with them if they didn't want to take the law into their own hands."

Quinn's gaze had fallen into her lap. She said something, but was so quiet Rachel couldn't hear.

"Pardon?"

The blonde looked up, and Rachel almost wished she hadn't. Her usually spectacular hazel eyes were dulled, and Rachel thought that if she were anyone but Quinn, even Santana, then she would've been crying a torrent.

"Why didn't you let them?"

"I don't think any parents would get away with beating up their daughter's bully, Quinn, especially not two gay men in Lima, Ohio. I would hope they wouldn't get away with it. It would be just as wrong, after all."

"You _do_ try."

"Yes, I am very trying."

Quinn giggled. Rachel smiled.

_She actually giggled. I don't believe it._

"Maybe," Quinn said, "Maybe we could try burying the hatchet, without it going into either of our skulls."

"I'd like that."

"But we would both have to compromise. You'd have to not immediately assume that every idea you don't like in Glee is a direct attack on you. I know you don't want to hear it, but a lot of the time people haven't even thought about you at all. They don't deserve you jumping down their throats."

"And you would have to actually be nice to me. In front of other people."

"See caveat one, and we should be fine. It's difficult being nice to people who aren't nice to your friends."

"Noted. Although that does mean you're admitting that you see everybody else in Glee as your friend, just not me."

Quinn said nothing.

"Any other caveats? You said 'caveat one'."

Quinn shook her head. Rachel sighed.

"This doesn't feel like a breakthrough."

"No."

"But we'll try."

"Yes."

Rachel smiled again, in a subdued fashion. Quinn returned it. Rachel regarded once again the en-suite door.

"Do you think they'll be alright?"

"I hope so. Although the last thing Britt did before getting into bed last night _was_ quote a line from her current favorite poem at Santana."

"I think I fell asleep before she even came out of the bathroom."

"'I wear not these my wings in vain.'"

"That sounds nice."

"The poem's called 'Why I write not of Love'."

"Oh."

"Right."

Quinn shrugged.

"She did kiss her forehead, though."

"Good."

"Yeah."

The two of them found themselves at a loss to say anything. They listened to the mostly dull, but sometimes excitable, noises coming from the en-suite. Quinn decided to break the silence.

"Didn't you have an early dance lesson, or something?"

Rachel's eyes went wide.

"Oh my, yes, it's," she looked at her watch, and her mild panic deflated, "Not for another three hours. Would Brittany's Mother really be up this early?"

"Yes. She's near-insomniac."

"Oh. Well, I'd better be going anyway, I suppose. Goodbye, Quinn."

Rachel thought she saw... something flash across Quinn's face, but whatever the emotion was, it didn't hang around long enough to be noticed.

"'Bye, Man-Hands."

Rachel pursed her lips, and left the room.

_So much for compromises._

She just reached the top of the stairs when Quinn called after her.

"Rachel."

She returned to Quinn's room.

"Yes?"

"Your lesson isn't for three hours."

"Correct."

"So you don't even need to go home and change for another two."

"True."

"I hadn't even planned on getting out of bed until midday, before you waking up because of B being sick half woke me up too."

_Wait, does that mean she was awake, or at least aware, when her hand was gripping my breast?_

If Quinn had made a slip-up, she hadn't noticed it. She looked over at Rachel, and lifted the quilt off of the edge of the bed.

"Even now I'm in pyjamas, this feels really cold without three other people in it."

Rachel was stunned.

"I only just put my clothes back on."

"That was a while, ago, actually. They've been in there for at least fifteen minutes."

"Really?"

Quinn nodded.

"Besides, if you're worried about sleeping in them, you're just going to change them instantly when you get home, right?"

"True."

"And you were in your bra and panties last night."

"I was drunk."

"Lightweight."

"These clothes were clean on for the party last night. I'm not going to put them in the laundry instantly. And I'm much too sober to parade around in my undies again."

Another look flashed across Quinn's features. Rachel would almost swear it was 'disappointment'.

"So I would have to borrow some spare pyjamas."

Quinn smiled, and nodded at a chest of drawers.

"Second draw down. You'll have to get changed in the hallway, obviously."

Rachel returned her smile, and, after having picked out a nice pair of pyjamas that usefully had stars on them, she got changed. In full view of Quinn, who gawped at her.

"I did say..."

"It was nothing you didn't see last night during the game, or sleep next to."

_Or intertwine your limbs with._

"Granted."

"Maybe you should put your top on the right way round."

Quinn raised an eyebrow, then nodded, and did just that.

"Like you said, it's nothing we didn't see during the game."

_Or sleep next to. Or intertwine my limbs with._

"Now get in, and keep five inches away at all times."

"Okay, I'll just set my phone alarm."

Rachel did that, and climbed in. Within five minutes, the two of them were asleep.

* * *

><p>Within another five minutes, Santana and Brittany came out of the en-suite. Brittany had finally gone ten minutes without up-chucking, after taking her pills, and had decided it was time to go back to sleep. They looked over at the bed, where Rachel and Quinn were already intertwined again, snoring mildly.<p>

"Ugh, look at them. When is Quinn going to give up the dwarf love?"

"She's not a dwarf, S, dwarf women have beards."

Santana was all set to jump on this, but Brittany wasn't finished.

"And she lost hers when Finn dumped her."

She grinned at Santana, who tried to retain her perma-scowl, but failed, breaking into just as sweet a grin in return.

"You're terrible when you're not out of it."

Her grin faltered.

"I hope one day you'll let me sue your parents for negligence so I can take you to a real doctor."

"Actually, Mom's going to visit her family next month, and Dad's staying home for an important conference, and whilst usually I'd love to go with Mom, I managed to convince them that Coach Sylvester wants me to stay despite it only being a week or so, so I was hoping I'd be able to convince Dad to take me. Because you're right, the way I'm going, degrading, it's _not_ right, and I'm worried, San, and I know you are too."

Brittany had been gently stroking Santana's arm, in a somewhat forlorn manner, but now she brightened up.

"Although try not to be look too worried when we wake up, because these pills will've kicked in and I probably won't know why you're looking like that. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Yay! Now let's get back into bed."

They were both still dressed how they'd been sleeping, so they just clambered back in. Once settled, Santana looked over at Rachel and Quinn again, and rolled her eyes.

"You realize they probably think we were having sex."

"Hmm. Not helped by the fact that I told Rachel about the heated towel rail–"

"You _what?_"

"–And then you sat on Quinn's."

Santana groaned, and buried her head in the pillow. Brittany put an arm around her. She looked into the bright blue eyes that had always calmed her, and sighed contentedly.

"Are we good now?"

She was hoping for an embrace, a kiss, anything solid, close and non-platonic. She got a soft, slightly distant and decidedly _friendly_ arm squeeze.

"Almost."

The perma-scowl was almost back in place when Brittany, already half-asleep, lightly brushed her mouth against Santana's, almost more an exchange of oxygen than a kiss.

"So very almost."

The blonde smiled into the pillow, quickly going the rest of the way into a deep sleep. Santana soon followed her, wondering why people always thought Brittany was the one chasing her.

Soon all four teenage girls were dreaming, all the same thing, all with the sweetest of sleeping smiles.

_Strong, pale, bare, limbs._

_Toned, tanned, bare, limbs._


End file.
